Beg For It
by Joss And The Arc
Summary: Summary: Soda was used to girls falling all over him and begging for his number...so what makes this new girl any different? Why isn't she swooning over him? Kate's slightly narcissistic, and used to being in control at all times. So why is this boy throwing her off?


**A/N: I've been thinking about this one for a little while now. Pretty excited. The Outsiders is the one subject I know better than anything. It was the book that got me really into reading, it was the first fanfiction subject I ever started reading. So this is kind of a big deal for me. Anyways, Kate might come off a bit Mary-Sueish, but I promise she's not. I really hope you enjoy, please review if you like it! Or even if you don't.**

_Beg For It_

_Summary: Soda was used to girls falling all over him and begging for his number...so what makes this new girl any different? Why isn't she swooning over him?_

**Chapter 1**

Marilyn Monroe died when Kate was thirteen years old. She was on the up-and-up while she was a little girl, setting off the blonde bombshell trend. Every girl and their mother were dying their hair the same shade of blonde as Monroe's. Not Kate, though. She could thank her mama for the natural, dirty-blonde hair that fell down her torso in one straight curtain.

Speaking of the bitch, where was she? Kate stepped off the city bus in Tulsa, Oklahoma and looked around. It was a Friday afternoon and the streets were bustling with teenage girls in long skirts and boys in button-ups. Her mother was nowhere in sight. No doubt still shacked up with that loser boyfriend she'd had since Kate was a child.

When she was fourteen, Kate hopped on a bus to New York to live with her father. But before her seventeenth birthday, he passed away from a cancerous growth in his brain. It had killed Kate to watch her father deteriorate in a hospital bed, but there was nothing that could be done. She was left with only a few photographs and everything he'd ever owned, left solely to her. So she did the only thing a reasonable teenager would do; sold the brownstone across from Central Park and went home to mommy.

There was no way in hell she was ever going to tell her mother what kind of money she had. It was all stored away in a bank where her mother couldn't get to it, Lord knows she would've used it all on alcohol and drugs.

Kate looked down at the small piece of paper in her hand with her old address on it. It was on the East side of town, the poor side. Typical. Her mother would be living in filth, Kate would be better off getting her own place with the money from the brownstone.

She set off walking down the street towards the East side. It was hot out, and she was glad she'd worn her denim shorts for once. It was a long walk, one she knew well from middle school, when she'd made it every day. Humming to herself, she ignored a few catcalls from the rich boys that lived in nearby neighborhood. Kate wasn't afraid of those pussies, Lord knows they wouldn't try anything the second she pulled the two Winchester 1897 heaters out of the holsters in her boots, even though they weren't loaded. No rich daddy's boy needed to know that.

Slowly, as Kate got closer to the far East side, the buildings began to get crummier and crummier, and there were less people crowding the sidewalks. The few groups she saw were boys, mid-teens all the way up to adults, dressed in torn jeans and leather jackets.

Kate smirked to herself as the boys made the same catcalls as the rich boys, only louder and more vulgar. These were the kinds of boys she would've gone for in New York, the bad boys, the ones that actually went for jailbait.

The sun was beating down on her by the time she reached her mothers' house, and she was sure she'd turned a few shades darker than her normal light tan. The house was exactly as she remembered it: the ugly, broken yellow paint was chipping along the edges, and the chainlink fence was torn at the bottom, where the dog she was sure died years ago had tried escaping.

She didn't even knock as she tossed the front door open - her mother always kept it unlocked. She dropped her suitcase next to the door as she headed towards her childhood bedroom.

Kate passed the kitchen and backtracked a little as she noticed her mother and Vincent sitting at the kitchen table, playing some sort of card game. Her mother barely looked up at the child she hadn't seen in three years. "You're back, are you?" she sneered.

"I called last week and said I was coming back," Kate snapped. She and her mother had never gotten along, even when she was a little girl. "Or were you too drunk to remember?"

Her mother started to stand, but Vincent put his hand on her arm. "Michelle, leave it alone," he said darkly, glaring at Kate. "Go to your room, girl."

Kate's teeth clenched, but she complied. Her bedroom was exactly as she'd left it: it was still the dull eggshell white, with cracks in the walls shining a dark brown. There was a large, queen-sized bed in the middle of the room and a full-length mirror in the corner, and that was it.

She brought the small suitcase into her room and set it at the end of her bed. No use unpacking right now, there wasn't enough in it to worry about. She moved to stand in front of the mirror - something she did often these days. Vanity was the one thing she had going for her.

Back to Marilyn Monroe - see, you thought that was just an intro, didn't you? - she was an icon for girls like Kate. While the older public regarded her as a slut for being seen as a sex symbol, Kate worshipped her. The woman was in complete control of her sexuality, something Kate desperately wanted herself. She subconsciously pulled down her daisy dukes just a little, hiding the bottom of her asscheeks. No reason to have them hanging out at home.

Kate was California-beautiful, not New York-beautiful. She had tanned skin and long blonde hair, and wore just enough makeup to accentuate her blue eyes and full lips. She was thin, but had a slight hourglass figure, though much more sharp and angular than Marilyn Monroe's, and her tummy was toned just enough to see the outline of her abs. Her thighs, however, were a different story: they were muscular and thick, the kind of thighs that made boys go nuts whenever she wore shorts, or even just jeans. It wasn't a classy kind of Broadway beautiful, it was a bikini gorgeous. She would be a swimsuit model, not a star.

All-in-all, Kate was conceited. You had to be to look that way in New York, or people would use you and walk all over you. A boy from New York had taught her that when he used her and left her with just the phrase "you're too nice" and an ugly sneer, then she never saw him again. It'd broken her heart.

She turned, inspecting her perfectly-tanned legs in the mirror. Not even a spot of cellulite on the back of her thighs. She tapped her brown cowgirl boots on the ground, feeling the guns shake in them. In New York, she'd always carried both, no matter what. It was habit. Tulsa seemed a little less dangerous, so she pulled one out and slid it between her two matresses.

Leaving the bedroom, Kate passed the kitchen to the front door with nothing more than a, "I'm going out. Be back later, don't wait up," and a slammed front door behind her.

It was still scorching out, only around 5pm, so Kate decided to check out the neighborhood. It was nearly silent, everybody seemed to be either in their homes or out doing things. The house across the street, however, sounded the loudest. There were yelps and shouts, though they all sounded playful. Kate headed up the street, hoping to find a convenience store where she could buy some food.

_Knock on wood_, she thought as she spotted a small gas station at the end of the road she was on.

* * *

><p>Steve was bent over the engine of a particularly gorgeous red 1962 corvette that had broken down just up the road from the gas station. The owner, a Plain-Jane-lookin' Soc, had pushed the vehicle to the DX for them to fix, and then ditched Steve to go inside and flirt with his best friend, who was working the register. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful car. Much nicer than Steve had ever had himself.<p>

He could steal the hubcaps off this thing in less than thirty seconds. But he wouldn't. He was working.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see what could've been a scene in a movie. A gorgeous, tan blonde in shorts and boots was headed up the road towards the DX. The sun was baking the road, giving the illusion of water around her. As he watched her approach, she reached up and wiped sweat off her forehead. She had him nearly panting.

This wasn't any girl he'd ever seen before; she sure as hell wasn't no Soc, not with the way she was dressed. But her clothes didn't scream Greaser, either. Maybe Middle Class? Whoever she was, Steve was going to find out.

He opened his mouth to call out to her, but the words hitched in his throat as he watched her hips swing side-to-side. _This ain't right_, he thought to himself. _You got Evie, why are you even looking? _

_Because Evie's not a fucking model_, his subconscious thought back, and he suddenly didn't feel so bad about staring at the mystery girl.

"Hey," she called to him. "Your store over there open?" The girl nodded towards the building Soda was working in.

Steve couldn't even speak. So he just nodded. When his brain finally caught up with him, he shook his head and attempted to wipe his greasy hands on his shirt. "I'm Steve," he said, offering one to her. He then froze, realizing he'd just offered a pretty girl a dirty hand. She was going to look at him in disgust and never come back.

Instead, the girl laughed and took his dirty hand, shaking it roughly. "I'm Kate," she said, giving him a soft smile. "I just moved from New York earlier today."

He made a face. "Why the hell would you move from New York to Oklahoma?"

Kate rolled her eyes, shifting her weight to one foot. "Parental issues," she said shortly. "Mind if I take a look in your store for some food?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve sighed, knowing what was coming next. "Soda's workin' in there now, you won't be in there alone."

_Soda_, Kate thought. _What the hell kinda nickname was that?_

The convenience store had air conditioning, which she was thankful for. The gust of cold air hit her as soon as she opened the doors and stepped inside. The first thing she noticed inside was that the small store was crowded. With girls. There weren't even that many cars outside, why were there so many people in here?

Kate made her way down a few aisles, grabbing some chocolate milk and freezer foods out of the coolers. "Excuse me," she growled, elbowing her way past the girls who just seemed to be hanging out in there for no reason. "Move!" When she finally made her way to the counter, nobody was there, but there was a small bell on the counter. Assuming she was supposed to ring it for service, that was exactly what she did.

"Move, excuse me, please move so I can get to work!" A friendly-sounding voice rose above the chatter of the girls in the store, and a boy made his way up behind the counter.

For once in her life, Kate was at a loss for words. This boy was gorgeous, the kind of attractive she would never be: Broadway Beautiful. He looked like a movie star, with perfect hair that was slicked forward and gorgeous brown eyes. She kept her jaw clenched and her face smooth. _Keep it covered, poker face_, she thought to herself. _Stay in control_. And that's exactly what she did.

The boy locked eyes with her, and his eyes widened a bit as he took all of her in. One side of Kate's mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. This boy had exactly the reaction she wanted. His pupils dialated and she watched his tongue dart out to lick his lips a little. It never took much observation to know when a boy wanted her. This was different than all the others, though. She could tell he was used to getting what he wanted. Hell, all these girls were probably in here to see him. He could probably have his pick, with how good-looking he was.

Whether or not he actually had the balls to try her would determine whether or not a battle would occur. It was all a game to Kate, one she always needed to win.

"Just these," she said softly, pushing her snacks to the front of the counter.

The boy blinked, and a grin covered his face. "You new here?" he asked as he rang her up. "I ain't ever seen you around before."

He was genuine. Holy _shit_. "I - I just moved here from New York," Kate stuttered a little. She wasn't used to boys being so nice. They usually wanted something, but he seemed too...friendly. "I'm Kate."

"Sodapop Curtis," the boy introduced himself.

"Soda?" she repeated, remembering the boy from outside. "The boy outside mentioned you, the one working on the corvette?"

Sodapop nodded. "That's Steve, he's my best friend."

Steve had a little more of the reaction Kate was used to when boys met her. He was a plain boy, a little more muscular than she usually liked, and the tattoo on his bicep was a little off-putting.

_Stay on top_, she reminded herself. _Flirt, but keep it casual_. "I just moved over on thirty-fourth avenue, if you'd like to hang out sometime," she said, keeping her voice even and her eyes narrowed seductively.

Soda's eyes lit up. "I live over there too, in 1039!" he said excitedly.

Kate blinked, recognizing the house numbers. That was the loud house across the street.

_Well, shit_.


End file.
